


knowing you first-hand

by moogle62



Category: Crooked Media RPF
Genre: First Time, Idiots in Love, M/M, Missing Scene, Remix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-05
Updated: 2018-11-05
Packaged: 2019-08-08 08:51:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16426235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moogle62/pseuds/moogle62
Summary: Lovett brings his hand, the one in the splint, back up to Tommy’s neck, and then makes a frustrated sound when whatever he’s trying to do doesn’t work. “This is ridiculous,” he grumbles. “I swear I have moves when I’m not being restrained by farcical injury.”





	knowing you first-hand

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LittleMousling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleMousling/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Let Me Give You a Hand](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12649425) by [LittleMousling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleMousling/pseuds/LittleMousling). 



> Remix of [Let Me Give You a Hand](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12649425/chapters/28826583) by LittleMousling, which is an excellent fic full of SOFT HURT/COMFORT and PINING MEN IN LOVE.
> 
> Guess who was the most delighted to get to play in this specific fictional universe? IT VERY ME.

Lovett seems to keep forgetting that he has one hand out of action. He keeps trying to, to, Tommy isn’t sure, to grip onto Tommy’s shoulders, maybe, or feel him up with both hands. He doesn’t need it for balance, at least, because he’s squarely in Tommy’s lap, thighs bracketing Tommy’s legs, and for all Lovett’s talk of a shave and a date, his stubble is scratching at Tommy’s skin with every kiss and they are definitely not in a position to go anywhere without probably being arrested for public indecency.

Lovett brings his hand, the one in the splint, back up to Tommy’s neck, and then makes a frustrated sound when whatever he’s trying to do doesn’t work. “This is ridiculous,” he grumbles. “I swear I have moves when I’m not being restrained by farcical injury.”

“Uh huh,” Tommy says, nosing at the soft skin at the side of Lovett’s throat, just above the collar of his t-shirt. “Sure. Sure you do, Lovett, I believe you.”

“Don’t sound so sceptical,” Lovett says, but any outrage he’s going for is lessened by the way his breath catches when Tommy gives into impulse and uses teeth, just a scrape. “I’ve been doing this longer than you, I know what I’m doing.”

“Uh huh,” Tommy says again, and grabs onto Lovett’s hips, keeps him in place so Tommy can really nip at him the way he wants, can bury his face in Lovett’s neck and breathe in the sweat-need smell of him. Tommy’s going to have stubble burn, he thinks, and, fuck, he likes it. “Well, when you’ve got two hands again, you’ll have to show me.”

Lovett squawks indignantly, pinching Tommy’s waist. Tommy’s shirt is somewhere by the side of the bed, long forgotten. “You’re damn right I’ll show you,” he says, and then, “keep -- yeah -- I guess you’re not doing so bad for, for, a first timer.”

“This isn’t my first time,” Tommy says, and flips them.

Lovett lands with a huff of breath, his legs coming up to circle Tommy’s hips. Tommy spares a moment to be grateful, briefly, for Barry’s Bootcamp, for letting him have this: Lovett on his back, dark-eyed and delighted, pulling Tommy down to kiss.

“Your first gay time,” Lovett says, after a second, because god forbid he ever let a bit lie. “Or bi time. Your first, uh, reciprocal dick time. Your first -- mmph--” and Tommy kisses him partly just to stop him talking, to make Lovett laugh against his mouth. It’s just like any other day, like Tommy playing something on his phone to cut Lovett off in the ads and surprise a laugh out of him, like Tommy plonking a dog on Lovett’s lap in the middle of one of his rants about Starbucks to make him lose his train of thought, the dance they’ve been doing since they met. Lovett pushes, and Tommy pulls. It works.

Except -- except it’s nothing like that at all, because none of that has ever been like this, with Lovett trying to grind up against him, letting Tommy bite at his lower lip. Jesus. It’s not like Tommy wanted Lovett to hurt his wrist, but if it took that for them to get here -- 

“I’m almost glad I hurt my fucking wrist,” Lovett gasps. “I mean, I could have lived without risking life and limb to get your attention but I guess this is, uh, this is fine.”

“Fine, huh?” Tommy says, and grinds his hips down. Lovett tips his head back, panting, and Tommy takes shameless advantage, ducking down to suck a bruise into the soft skin just above Lovett’s high t-shirt collar.

If they had a do-over, Tommy would take the way that didn’t see Lovett hurt, would take it a million times over, but now that they’re here -- _here_ , with Lovett clutching at Tommy’s back with his good hand, digging his nails in tight in a way that’s making Tommy’s breath catching, making sharp points of pleasure jolt up his spine -- Tommy’s grateful, so fucking grateful. 

He rolls his hips again and Lovett whimpers, soft and high, squirming under Tommy’s body. “I wish I had both hands,” he says, even as Tommy watches a flush of embarrassment creep up his throat. “I wish I could -- fucking -- you gotta do something, I swear. Is this how it is in hetero sex? You work someone up until they have to beg you for it?”

Jesus. “I don’t think that’s hetero exclusive,” Tommy says, and dips to kiss Lovett again, filthy, until both of them are panting for breath, Lovett restless on the bed. He’s wearing sweats -- god, they’re both still fully dressed, this is ridiculous -- and Tommy can feel how hard he is, how fucking good it is when Lovett shoves up and grinds against Tommy’s thigh. 

If he was expecting a, a moment of pause, or consideration, or anything like that for his first time with a guy, he’s not having one. He just wants this, to keep going. Wants Lovett. 

“Tommy,” Lovett pants, again. “Tommy, god, c’mon.”

“C’mon what?” Tommy asks, only partly facetious. “What do you want, Lovett? What can I do?”

Lovett groans and turns his head to the side, hiding his face against the inside of Tommy’s wrist. Maybe he can feel the way Tommy’s pulse is thumping, the way all of Tommy is straining for him, lit up. “You’re trying to kill me,” he says, muffled. “You’re actually trying to -- do you know what you fucking look like? What you sound like, saying things like that?”

“No,” Tommy says, honestly. “Is it working for you?”

“Is it working, he says.” Lovett’s voice is pitching high. “Is it working -- yes, Tommy, it’s fucking working, you can do whatever you want.”

Tommy wants so many things he can barely think about them. He wants to lie Lovett out on this bed and work him all over, find the places that make him jerk and whimper, the places that make him need more. He wants to blow him, to tug Lovett’s sweats down and take Lovett’s dick in his mouth and just fucking _blow_ him, finding his way as he goes. He wants to -- he wants to --

\-- there’ll be time for all the things he wants to do. Right now, he just wants to do _something_. He wants Lovett to know just how much he’s into this, how amazed Tommy is to get this, to be trusted with this part of Lovett, vulnerable and intimate and wanting.

“I want to make you come,” Tommy says, the words almost falling out of his mouth. “Take your sweats off.”

Lovett jerks underneath him, mouth dropping open. “Fuck,” he says, and he’s wriggling his good hand between them, pushing his sweats down. “You got it, Tommy, you --” he can’t quite get the angle with one hand, and swears when his sweats catch on one hip “-- you --”

Tommy can’t help himself. “Need a hand?” he asks, and Lovett groans, the sound tapering out into a laugh. “I don’t know why I like you,” he says, still laughing. “I don’t even -- yes, give me a fucking hand, help me the fuck out.”

Tommy holds himself up on one arm to help -- Lovett swears again at that, in a very different tone of voice -- and between them they work Lovett’s sweats down until Lovett can kick them off, dropping them over the side of the bed. His underwear is down around his thighs, and Tommy can finally, _finally_ drop a hand between the two of them and close it around Lovett’s dick.

Lovett’s hips buck and he makes this _sound_ , part needy, part embarrassed. He drapes his arm over his eyes, hiding his face. “It’s, uh,” he says, “been a while.”

Tommy has to tamp down the ridiculous, instinctive part of him that immediately thinks, good. That’s hardly fair: it’s not like people are possessions, for one thing, and for another, no matter when he clued into his feelings about Lovett, Lovett’s body is his to do what he wants with. But still -- the thought of someone else getting to see this, Lovett warm and pliant with desire, dick fat and hot in Tommy’s hand -- it’s -- no. It’s no. That’s as coherent as Tommy can be about it.

There’s nothing strange about this, about doing this for the first time. There’s a slight moment of weirdness to feel his hand this way round on a dick, instead of bumping his fingers up against his own stomach, but nothing else. It’s just -- it’s being with Lovett, getting to do this with Lovett. It’s fucking amazing.

Lovett bucks his hips again, this time clearly on purpose. “Tommy,” he says, sounding kind of strained. “You said you wanted to get me off. Is that, uh, more of a contemplative notion, or, or -- are you gonna do something about that?”

Tommy laughs. “How can you still say contemplative,” he says, and tightens his grip, starting to stroke Lovett for real. There’ll be time for the other things later -- and often, Tommy hopes -- but for now Tommy just wants this, to stroke Lovett off in his unmade bed and watch him like it, watch his body urge Tommy on.

“So you, uh, haven’t jerked off at all?” Tommy asks. “Since the splint?”

“No,” Lovett says, still strained. “It’s not like it’s been forever, all right, but it’s been -- I don’t do well when I can’t do things, I don’t know if you knew that about me.”

“I had picked that up,” Tommy says. “I was maybe aware of that.” He speeds his hand up, and Lovett swears again. Tommy can't see his expression really, Lovett with his arm still flung across his face, and it's suddenly untenable. “Let me see?” Tommy asks. “I want to see your face.”

“Kinky,” Lovett says, on a half-laugh. His dick is twitching in Tommy's hand, getting slicker when Tommy rubs a curious thumb up under the head. “I should have known you'd be into feelings and stuff in bed.” When he moves his arm, his face is flushed, his eyes very dark. His expression keeps jumping, twisting as his breath hitches. It's fucking -- it's probably the hottest thing Tommy's ever seen: desire and gratification writing and rewriting themselves across Lovett's face.

“Like you're not into feelings in bed,” Tommy says, because he's sure of that if nothing else. He might not have had time to dwell on his crush, but he only has to know Lovett to know that whatever he might say, he runs romantic, sincere down deep in his heart. He loves to know his people the best he can, the secret parts of themselves they don't give up to everyone. That has to translate to sex, Tommy figures. It just makes sense. “You’re entirely removed from the situation.”

Lovett’s laugh is losing its way, giving out to pants for breath. “Shut up,” he says, fondly, and then his face creases up again, his good hand clutching at the duvet. “Gonna -- ah, ah, fuck, gonna --”

“Yeah,” Tommy croaks, unable to stop watching, to move a muscle other than how he’s jerking Lovett off, steady and firm. He’s going to make Lovett come. His own need is like a hot well in his gut, insistent. “C’mon, give it up, I know you need it, c’mon,” and Lovett gulps, and does. He’s quiet through it, like he’s holding his breath, but his body is loud, shuddering and jerking under Tommy, his dick jumping in Tommy’s hand as Tommy keeps stroking him until all the tension goes out of him. “Fuck,” Tommy breathes, and leans down to kiss him. “Oh my god.”

Lovett kisses back, looping an arm around Tommy’s neck to hold him in place. He kisses lazy, satisfied, exactly like someone who just came. Tommy could stay here forever, knowing he made Lovett feel like this, but his body thinks otherwise: he’s grinding down against Lovett’s thigh almost unconsciously, searching for friction.

“Give a guy a minute,” Lovett says, but it’s in his joke voice, exaggerated. His mouth is very red when he looks up at Tommy again, his cheeks blotchy pink. “You have to -- move over, Thomas, I’m working with disadvantage here.”

Tommy moves before he’s thought about it, just reacting to what Lovett wants, which means he’s almost entirely taken by surprise when Lovett slides gracelessly off the side of the bed, landing on his knees with a thump.

“Throw me a pillow,” Lovett says, raising an eyebrow expectantly, down on his knees in his come-splattered t-shirt, “and I’ll show you a good time.”

Tommy throws him a pillow.

“Just so you know,” Lovett says, settling himself again, “I don’t usually blow a guy on the first date, but lucky for you, my hand’s out of action.” He looks up, through his eyelashes: it’s so clearly practiced that it makes Tommy’s stomach clench, just thinking about Lovett knowing what he looks like, and wanting to show that to Tommy. “And, uh, also I’ve been thinking about your dick.”

“Jesus,” Tommy says faintly, scooching to the edge of the bed as Lovett beckons him over with feigned impatience. “You just -- Jesus.”

“Save your blasphemies,” Lovett says, his mouth twitching into a smile, and leans in.

Tommy’s down to his boxers already so it’s easy enough for Lovett to reach in and get his dick out one-handed, fitting his mouth around the head immediately, no hesitation. Tommy has to grab for the duvet just to fucking hold onto something: fuck, Lovett’s _mouth_ is -- he’s -- 

“You weren’t kidding,” Tommy chokes. “You’re very good at this,” and even around a mouthful of dick, the look Lovett flashes him clearly says _no shit_.

From this position, Tommy can see the way Lovett’s up on his knees for access, the way Lovett’s deceptively broad shoulders are bunching up as he works. He can see the weirdly vulnerable undersides of Lovett’s bare feet; the soft back of Lovett’s neck. The way Lovett’s eyes are screwed closed in concentration, appreciation, and it’s that that’s going to tip Tommy over the edge, just how fucking obvious it is that Lovett likes it, that it’s doing it for him.

“Lovett,” Tommy manages, trying to be polite, trying to keep his hips still. “Lovett, I’m -- you’re -- “ and Lovett just keeps going. If it’s possible to suck dick smugly, Lovett is doing it, and it’s so _Lovett_ that Tommy loses it, comes right then into Lovett’s smug mouth. He has to flop back, gasping, when he’s done, but he can hear Lovett wiping his mouth, and shivers again, just from the thought.

The bed dips as Lovett climbs back up, tugging the duvet over them as best he can. They’re lying horizontally across the middle of the bed and Tommy feels like his brain might have melted, might have just evaporated right out of him through some sort of sexual impossibility.

They lie still for a moment, Lovett pressed against Tommy’s side while Tommy tries to get his breath back. It’s almost too warm like this, but Tommy doesn’t want to move, or to push the duvet away. He feels safe, connected, wrapped up with Lovett in a way that makes the rest of the world feel a long way away, unimportant.

Lovett’s good hand finds Tommy’s, safe under the duvet where neither of them can see. Tommy links their fingers together, and feels more than hears Lovett’s quiet hum of satisfaction, a pleased vibration of a thing. He leans over with an effort and kisses Lovett again, letting Lovett arch happily up against his body, their hands still joined by their sides. 

After a second, Lovett makes a small noise of protest, and pulls his face away, clearly fighting back a smile.

“What?” Tommy asks. Lovett’s expression is turning self-satisfied, the way it does before a joke he’s proud of. Tommy feels warm and happy and secure, bundled up with Lovett and knowing Lovett’s happy too. 

Lovett turns, his kissed mouth quirking. “You need a shave,” he says, and Tommy drops his head down, and laughs.


End file.
